Everything He Never Wanted
by indie
Summary: Vignettes set in the same universe as Sins of the Father.  These vignettes explore the relationship between Lord Vader and Angel, Padme's clone.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:**Everything He Never Wanted

**SERIES: **Sins of the Father

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** In "Sins of the Father", Vaderkin never really comes right out and explains what he may or may not have done with Angel, Padme's clone. You can read it however you want. If you believe that Vaderkin could never touch another woman except his wife, go for it. However, if you think Vaderkin may be twisted enough to willingly engage in acts that deeply disturb him, this is how things may have played out ...

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 2**: Stylistically, this story and its companion pieces are constructed much like my other series, The Senator's Wife. Each "chapter" is self-contained, but contributes to the larger framework. You do not need to read these pieces to understand Sins of the Father.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 3**: There is an alternate version of this chapter available at my personal website.

* * *

He's drunk.

It's a rare occurrence to be certain, yet he would not dream of denying it. He's drunk. He stalks down the dark corridor. He may have shunned the Jedi teachings, their narrow code of conduct, but he still lives by his own strict moral code. That code does not include drinking to excess. Except when it happens – which isn't often.

He's seen far too many drunks in his time to be deluded into thinking it's glamorous. He knows he's being a nerf. And he doesn't care. He knows the heightened sense of control is an absolute illusion. But it's that illusion he needs tonight. To be completely _out_ of control while feeling completely _in_ control.

He stops in front of the beautifully carved wooden doors, his chest heaving with the force of his breath. He feels like a virgin on his wedding night. He hates that. He pounds on the doors, forgoing the security scanner which would undoubtedly grant him access.

He pounds again, having no concept of how much time might have elapsed. He raises his fist to pound yet again and the lock clicks open.

She stands there, blinking at him with those huge, luminous eyes. He doesn't wait for an invitation. He pushes his way inside. She turns to close the door and he presses her back against it.

She doesn't speak. She's not smart, but she can follow orders and she knows that on these desperate nights when he darkens her door, silence is necessary. She yields to him with everything she has and everything she is; and perversely it angers him. Contrary creature that he is, her supplication is sweetest when hardest won. And he does mean _won_. Not forced or coerced or manipulated. There would be no satisfaction in that.

But there is nothing to win here. She was _designed_ specifically for this purpose. In a gesture that was everything he never wanted. The gesture cost Zemda Farr his life.

There is some part of him that always knew he would never be able to satisfy his wife. He would never be enough. Not smart enough, not patient enough, not educated enough. He always knew it was only a matter of time before she figured it out and left.

And she did.

It's impressive in a twisted sort of way. For Padmé to get any farther away from him, she'd have to actually leave the galaxy. He takes a perverse sense of accomplishment in that fact.

Most of the time.

But not tonight.

It's been a dozen years since he last saw his wife – fourteen since he last touched her. And he thinks of her every. single. day.

Angel is a poor imitation.

Oh, she's beautiful. And sweet. And absolutely loyal. So are prized felinx, but he doesn't want to bed those either.

Okay, well, he usually doesn't want to bed Angel (and he never wants to bed a felinx). She usually unnerves him with her vacant smiles and accommodating nature. Padmé was always most attractive when she was in high dudgeon, cheeks red, nostrils flaring, fists clenched. Nothing has ever gotten him as turned on as watching his wife's anger fly out of her control, watching her passions consume her.

Except right now his wife and her passions are in the Outer Rim playing moisture farmer.

And he's drunk in the west wing of the Imperial Palace bedding her clone even though it creeps him out.

Almost bedding her clone. They're both wearing too many clothes.

He pulls her dressing gown over her head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. She moans, pressing closer to him. He fists one hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her neckwhile his other hand takes off his tunic.

"My Lord," she gasps.

He smacks her. Not hard. And she likes it. It's the upshot of having a consort designed solely for the purpose of sexual gratification. She likes_everything_. Which is good. Because he does things to Angel he would never have dreamed of even mentioning to Padmé.

But still. He doesn't want to hear her talk. It's usually better when she's quiet.

He'll hate himself in the morning. He always does. It's a game he plays – more with himself than her. Every few months he gets lonely enough and drunk enough and horny enough to find his way down here. And she's always waiting.

Like a good girl.

Because she is a good girl.

And unlike the other few women he has bedded, Angel takes no offense when he calls Padmé's name.

And in the morning when he stumbles into the 'fresher and vomits, he can blame it on the booze.

* * *

End Section 


	2. When You Care Enough To Send The Very Be

**TITLE: When You Care Enough To Send The Very Best(1/1)  
SERIES: Sins of the Father - vignettes  
CHARACTERS: Vader, Angel  
TIMELINE: 7 years before "Sins of the Father".**

* * *

The door hisses open and he strides through. She jumps up from her perch on the luxuriously upholstered repulsor sofa. Her movement catches his attention and as soon as he looks her direction, she bows her head and curtsies.

"What are you doing here?" he demands, abruptly stopping in the middle of his private quarters.

She risks a glance up at him and then looks away quickly. "You instructed me to leave." She glances up again. "But I have nowhere to go."

He looks at her, angrily shaking his head. He gestures with his hand, but seems at a loss for words. "Go back where you came from," he finally snaps.

She shifts uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, wanting nothing more than to obey his commands. Yet, he asks the impossible. "I cannot," she says simply. "Responsibility for me was passed from Senator Farr to you. I have no home to which I can return."

He gaze narrows and his nostrils flare. He takes one step toward her. Then another. "_Responsibility_," he bites out. "You mean _ownership_."

She blinks at him, understanding he is angry, but not understanding why. "Yes."

"Have you no – " he yells and then stops short. He glares at her, his voice low and measured. "No one can _own_ you. You are a sentient being. You are free."

She cocks her head to the side, studying him. "But I was created for you. _You_ own me."

A crystal vase on the side table shatters loudly, despite being touched by no one. He is breathing hard, unable to look at her. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Long minutes pass in which neither of them move. Finally, he looks up at her. "You need to leave."

"But – "

"I don't care where you go, but you need to leave. You can't be here. I'm in no shape to be discussing things with you."

"You've been drinking," she says without judgment.

He looks up at her, his expression guarded. "Yes."

She looks over her shoulder. The large viewport in the stateroom suite aboard the Emperor's flagship Star Destroyer provides a magnificent view of the planet Duro. Though so polluted it is now uninhabitable, Duro is still beautiful from afar, a vast sea of oranges and yellows. She has studied many star systems and it occurs to her that from high orbit, Duro bears a remarkable resemblance to the Emperor's homeworld of Tatooine. She wonders if it makes him homesick.

Turning, she steps closer to the viewport. She is well aware of the Emperor's attention on her, and of his standing order for her to leave his presence. But he's lying to her as much as he is to himself. He does not want her to leave. His heart and breath rate are elevated, his skin is damp with perspiration. His eyes are slightly dilated. All of these physical signs are partially attributable to the alcohol he imbibed. But not entirely. He desires her. And _that_ is what she desires.

"This is a much better view than the one from my former rooms," she says.

He doesn't immediately reply, but she is encouraged when he joins her at the viewport. She turns to look at him and finds him looking not at the view, but at her.

"How long have you been on Duro?" he asks.

She easily senses the anger simmering beneath his words. Possessive anger. And a hint of fear. "Not long," she says, looking out the viewport. "I arrived from Kamino a week ago."

He steps closer, nearly looming over her. "Have you been with Senator Farr the entire time?"

She stands there, feeling his breath puff against her temple. She turns, looking up at him. He's so close. She is shocked at the vibrant blue of his eyes. "No one touched me inappropriately," she says. "I am property of the Emperor. I was treated with the utmost respect."

He stares at her for a moment and she is well aware of the labored sound of his breathing. Then, with a groan, he turns away. "I'm asking if Farr paraded you through the orbital city's streets," he snaps. "You're a security risk." He turns and looks at her, his movements jerky and clearly agitated. "Do you know who you are?" he demands.

She looks at him placidly. "I am a modified clone of Padmé Naberrie Skywalker, former Senator of Naboo, your wife, the Empress."

He stares at her aghast. "You _know_?"

"Of course, I know," she says, confused. "How could I be expected to perform my duties if I didn't have as much information as possible?"

"Information?" he asks, sounding almost wary, his eyes slightly glassy.

"Yes," she says, nodding cheerfully. "The Kaminoans possessed detailed information on your history as well as the history of the Empress. Most of the information was procured via information brokers, so the reliability is not assured. Perhaps you can correct any inaccuracies. I was informed you met the Empress when she served as the Naboo Queen. She was fourteen at the time. Did you prefer her like that?" She looks down at her body, covered in skin tight Dramassian silk in a dark crimson. "My age was accelerated to approximate eighteen standard human years. I am more physically developed than Queen Amidala would have been at your initial meeting. But perhaps I could – "

"_Stop_," he says in a quiet, almost pleading voice. He turns away, shuddering. "My daughter is nine. Just don't go there."

She frowns, confused, but boldly presses forward. "I have many gowns. Reproductions of attire the Empress wore in public. If she had any other apparel, perhaps garments she wore specifically for you in private, I can procure – "

"Kriff," he curses under his breath. He glares at her. "I know you're a clone, but how can this not bother you? You aren't Padmé. You're someone else. These gowns, this information. It's not yours." He slaps his chest with his palm. "_I'm_ not yours."

She smiles at him, a wicked seductive smile. Padmé's smile. Learned by watching intercepted holo' transmissions for hours on end. Private recordings meant only for Anakin Skywalker's eyes.

"I want you, Ani" she says, with exactly the same breathless inflection Padmé Naberrie Skywalker recorded for her absent Jedi husband more than a decade ago. Her manicured fingertips play along the exposed skin of her upper chest exactly the way Padmé's did in the holo' recording. Slowly, she trails down her chest, her fingers splaying low on her abdomen. "I miss you," she says quietly, almost a whisper. "When you're not with me, I think about you." She smiles, turning her head to the side in the precise manner Padmé did so long ago. She even blushes. "I think about you all the time. I think about you touching me. I want you to touch me."

She looks up at him. His jaw is unhinged, gone slack as he stares at her with wide eyes. She steps closer and he does not retreat. She licks her lips and leans in close, pressing her body against his as she whispers in his ear. "My _wish_. My _only_ wish is to bring you pleasure in whatever way you wish me to bring you pleasure. I. Am. Yours."

He groans, but reaches for her.

[end section


End file.
